


Atlantis

by Hinn_Raven



Series: Rising Tide [2]
Category: Young Justice, Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Atlanteans are Assholes, Bullying, Child Soldiers, Fantastic Racism, Hey it's canon Kaldur was 12, Kaldur Week, Kaldurama, Physical Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2013-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-21 02:15:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/894613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hinn_Raven/pseuds/Hinn_Raven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kaldur is twelve when he is drafted for the military. A day in the life of twelve-year old soldier boy Kaldur, plus his mother's thoughts on the matter. Part of Kaldurama Week on Tumblr</p>
            </blockquote>





	Atlantis

Sha’lain’a woke her son on the day he was to go with the recruiters for the military.

He was too young, Sha’lain’a thought sadly, carefully cutting his hair close. Calvin made breakfast; sardines and kelp. She kept her face straight and her hands steady as Kaldur ate his breakfast. He didn’t speak a word, staring at his food.

 _It’s not fair_ , Sha’lain’a thought furiously. _He’s too young_.

Kaldur’ahm was only twelve. He shouldn’t have been recruited yet.

 _Shortage my gloutos **[1]**_ , Sha’lain’a thought darkly, checking that Kaldur’s bag was completely packed. _Purist stratiotai **[2]**!_

Sha’lain’a did not believe in coincidences. She smoothed down the wrinkles in Kaldur’s uniform, managing to smile. Kaldur’ahm was the first twelve year old in Poseidonis in fifty years to be recruited. He was also both dark skinned, gilled, and blonde. She kissed his forehead. “Do me proud, Kaldur’ahm.”

“Yes Matim,” he said, hugging her.

“Do not let them beat you down,” she whispered in his ear. “You are strong, my son. You are the ocean. They are nothing. Their words mean nothing. Remember that.”

* * *

Kaldur woke up to someone trying to smother him in his sleep. Again.

He struck out with his fist, channeling an electric burst to shock his opponent enough to allow Kaldur to get to his feet. Once he was out of bed, he was out of mortal danger. They wouldn’t dare to make it clear it was not an accident.

His attacker that day was a sixteen year old girl with creamy skin and elegant dark hair. Her eyes were cutting green, and there was no webbing or gills or scales anywhere to be seen on her. She slept in the bunk across from Kaldur. She was flanked by Kaldur’s bunkmate, a heavyset ginger boy who was almost a man, and a girl who Kaldur had never seen before, with close-cropped black hair and impressive muscles. She, like Kaldur, must have been trained prior to the military service. She looked to be around seventeen, and her smile was cruel.

They struck in unison. The new girl punched him in the jaw, while the other girl twisted her leg around Kaldur’s, trying to trip him. Ma’renal (Kaldur’s bunkmate) tried to punch Kaldur in the back. Kaldur fought back. He was used to this by now. These “soldiers” were no worse than the children on the playground when he was five.

Except for that there were more of them now, and no Matim or teachers to call them off.

“Hey!” Someone shouted as Kaldur decked Lanelsa (the green-eyed girl) into her bunk. “The gilled boy’s fighting again!”

They were at all sides then. Punching. Kicking. Scratching. Kaldur fought back, but there was not much point. He didn’t cry out. He never did any more.

The fools didn’t realize that they only made him stronger, gave him more tolerance for pain. Kaldur gritted his teeth. He would go to Lori later. Lori knew healing spells.

After he visited Lori and ate breakfast, he reported for training. The trainer tossed him a spear and ordered a free for all.

 _Kopros **[3]**_.

They all turned on Kaldur eagerly, striking with their various weapons of the day. Kaldur deflected and fought as well as he could, but they outnumbered him nineteen to one.

“Learn to do better, boy!” The trainer said roughly to Kaldur, who was nursing a broken leg and a bloody gash above his eye. “Extra work hours after supper today. You’ll report to me.”

“Yes sir,” Kaldur said quietly. Arguing did no good.

This time he went to a palace healer, who patched him up brusquely and sent him off to lunch. After lunch were academic and sorcery lessons. Kaldur gave his oral report on the reign of King Orin’s Great-Grandfather perfectly, and was commended. He saw Lanelsa and Ma’renal glower at him. He sighed. He’d pay for that later.

Sorcery classes were a joke. It was mainly to ascertain who would be commended for continuing their scholarship at the Conservatory of Sorcery after their mandatory service. Kaldur worked hard in that class. (He worked hard in _every_ class, but particularly there. Matim could not afford to send him there on her own. He needed the commendation, and the scholarship that came with it.)

Sure enough, after his extra work with the training master (the man had Kaldur doing sit-ups until Kaldur thought that his abdomen would explode) he was met with his garrison mates.

Kaldur sighed, straightening his shoulders. This wouldn’t take too long. Penela, the Garrison Head, made her rounds soon, and they would all have to be in bed.

Lanelsa kicked Kaldur in the stomach, winding him and bruising his already aching muscles. “Filthy koprophage[4]!” She yelled, as if she really needed a reason to beat on him. “Cheating son of a kuna[5]!”

Kaldur felt rage boil with in him. “ _Your_ mother is a suagorai[6] and your father is a troglos[7],” he told her mildly. “I’d watch what I say about _my_ mother if I were you.”

Lanelsa flushed, infuriated. “Impure _scum_!” She screamed, apparently having run out of creative insults. She punched him in the face, continuing to let lose a stream of uncreative abuse. When she and her friends let him stop to breath, Kaldur speculated upon the possibility of their mothers being unfaithful with barracuda.

Yes, it was stupid, but if Penela caught them out of bed, _they’d_ get extra work tomorrow as well as him.

So maybe he was a little petty. He was twelve, it was allowed.

“ _Leave him alone_!”

Who was _that_?

The crowd parted ever-so-slightly, revealing another one of the new recruits. Kaldur didn’t know her name. She had red hair, twin strands falling into her face. She looked to be a year or two older than Kaldur, which was surprising. Usually most people didn’t get recruited until they were fifteen at the very earliest.

She was pure, Kaldur noted with surprise. Her skin was pale and very human, there was no webbing or gills, and her midriff was exposed, fully revealing that she lacked even the slightest amounts of extra fins or scales that some so-called pure Atlanteans sometimes had.

Her eyes were wide with rage. “ _Leave him alone_!” She repeated, and Kaldur couldn’t help but think she was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.

She knelt down to help him. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” he whispered. “Fine.” (His ribs were cracked and he had a black eye, but that was mild.)

She glared at them again, and they shuffled off, caught off guard by a pure girl standing up for him. (They’d be back tomorrow, Kaldur was sure of it. And her presence wouldn’t put them off.) “I’m Tula,” she said. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Kaldur’ahm,” he said.

She smiled at him. “Nice to meet you.”

She meant it too.

  


* * *

[1] Rude word for posterior

[2] Soldier

[3] A rude word for dung.

[4] A consumer of dung.

[5] Female dog.

[6] Lover of pigs. (Yes in _that_ way.)

[7] Primitive cave dweller, barbarian. 


End file.
